


Captain, It's Cold Inside

by get_blasted



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Christmas Party, Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/get_blasted/pseuds/get_blasted
Summary: Stranded at an office Christmas party at the Irons residence, Jill is left with no other option but to rely on Wesker to get her home safely.
Relationships: Jill Valentine/Albert Wesker
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61





	Captain, It's Cold Inside

**Author's Note:**

> This is from last year I believe but I recently dug it up again and decided to publish it! Enjoy :)

**DEC. 1997**

**IRONS RESIDENCE**

The evening was cool and dark, lit only by the many strings of warm Christmas lights hung around every inch of Raccoon City. Snow frosted the windows and slicked the roads, making the night of the Raccoon Police Department’s annual employee Christmas party a perfect night to spend inside. 

There, Jill turned a bottle of brandy upside down. It glugged as it poured, turning murky as it mixed with the tiny, creamy pool of eggnog remaining at the bottom of the glass. Once the steady stream had turned into an inconsistent trickle, Jill righted the bottle, hurriedly screwing the cap back on. She took it by the neck and thrusted it back into the chief’s liquor cabinet, maneuvered around, and nudged the wooden door shut with her elbow.

 _Clink. Crash._ Jill walked away as if she’d never heard it at all, swiping her brimming glass of brandy off of the table and making her way back into the living room.

It had been around two hours since the party had started, and a handful of people were still milling around the house, most of whom had arrived fashionably late. “Excuse me,” Jill muttered, brushing past a fellow officer resting his hip against the kitchen’s entryway. 

Making a beeline to reclaim her post at the snack table, Jill realized most of it had already been picked over, save for a lone plate of store-bought gingerbread. Jill reached over, peeling off the plastic wrap. She popped a hearty chunk of gingerbread in her mouth. _Stale._ She washed it down with a mouthful of brandy, hoping whoever had brought the plate hadn’t seen her face sour at the taste. 

Leaning back against the wall, Jill surveyed the room. She recognized many - if not all - of the attendants. Harry and Rita were in the corner, each wielding their complimentary eggnogs. Marvin was buzzing around too, probably looking to break in the new recruits. She looked over to the other side of the room, and accidentally locked eyes with Kevin, which prompted him to make his way over to her. _Oops._

 _“_ Hey, Jill.” 

Jill nodded politely. She didn’t know him personally all that well, but Officer Ryman was a crack shot, a respected member of the RPD - and one of Chris’s drinking buddies. “Kevin.”

“Have any idea why Chris didn’t show up?” Kevin asked, his tone casual but inquiring. “I figured he tagged along with you, but I haven’t seen him all night.”

 _Of course._ Jill took a sip from her glass. “Take a wild guess,” she said. 

“Chief Irons?”

Jill snapped her fingers. “Bingo.”

Kevin's features scrunched. “Chris really hates him enough to pass up free booze?”

“Guess so,” Jill murmured. 

“That’s surprising,” he said, giving a sigh. “Thanks anyway, Jill.”

She nodded as he walked off, assumingly to relay what she’d said to a mutual friend. Elran intercepted his path. A glass of eggnog bumped against his chest, the thick white liquid sloshing onto his nice jacket. Jill heard yelling and a flurry of apologies before she looked away, not in the mood to witness a sad fight in the middle of Chief Irons’s living room. 

_Maybe Chris had the right idea_. Jill sighed, staring at the floor through an amber-tinted glass. She tuned out both Kevin’s yelling and whatever Burl Ives song was playing in the background, thinking only of when she’d be able to leave. She visualized her warm bed at home, woefully empty and miles away from Chief Irons. 

Jill’s amber reflection taunted her. _You could be_ home, it said. _You shouldn’t have come._ True, maybe. She had only come to drink the chief’s booze and catch up with Bravo team. _Check and check_ , she thought. She could leave as soon as Barry said so. 

Before coming, Barry had graciously offered to be her designated driver - not that she was really _that_ drunk.

… Or, at least, Jill _thought_ she wasn’t, until she realized that Barry had been talking at her for the past minute. 

He seemed mildly distressed. She caught the words _Moira_ and _hospital_ and shook out of her alcohol-fueled daze. “Barry - slow down. What happened?”

Barry took in a deep breath. “Moira has a fever,” he said. “Kathy took her to the hospital and she’s asking for me. I’m sorry, Jill. I have to go.”

That sobered her. “Don’t apologize,” Jill said, fixing Barry with a sympathetic look. “Go. I’ll find a ride.”

He accepted that, muttering his thanks and one last apology before making a quick escape. Jill needed to do the same - but first, she needed to find a ride. 

_Kevin?_ No, definitely not. They didn’t know each other well enough, and he was already pretty irritated from his runin with Elran. 

Brad had already left, as had Enrico, and Chris hadn’t come. Joseph was neck-deep in conversation with Rita on the other side of the room. She wasn’t going to ask Rebecca for a ride, nor was she going to bug any of the senior officers. She supposed that left…

Captain Wesker. Jill inhaled sharply, knowing all she could do was hold onto hope that he hadn’t slipped away earlier in the evening. She put her now-empty glass down onto the snack table, and resolved to track him down. 

* * *

Jill checked the kitchen. She checked the living room. She even asked around, and no one had seen Wesker leave - but curiously, no one could say where and when they’d seen him last.

Jill knew he had come, at least. She remembered running into him at the beginning of the evening, sparking up a brief conversation before Wesker excused himself, and seemingly disappeared right before her very eyes. 

Not really _,_ but it had been similarly quick, and it was quickly becoming apparent that no one had seen him since. 

Just her luck. Jill’s search was becoming more and more desperate by the minute, making her third round around the living room and even checking the bathroom at the end of the hall. It creaked open at the nudge of her foot and revealed just that - nothing.

She was beginning to give up hope, mentally debating between the lesser of two evils as she walked back down the hall. It was between swallowing her pride and asking Kevin for a ride and waiting out in the snow for a cab when she heard voices muffled by a closed door. 

Jill stopped dead in her tracks, flattening her back against the wall beside the door. 

“— to get out,” a voice faded in. It sounded like Wesker’s voice, and Jill’s body flooded with momentary relief. “I can imagine it now: Brian Irons, chief of police and _noted psychopa—_ “ 

“ _Enough,”_ a voice hissed, gruff in interrupting the other. “You’ve made your point, Albert. Regardless of what information you have access to, mine still stands. One of us is going to have to fold, and it seems I must remind you of my position as your _superior—“_

Jill rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. “Hello? Who’s in there?”

Pregnant silence filled the air. It felt like she’d interrupted something important - and she definitely had. Jill didn’t know what they were talking about, but it sounded serious. _Like blackmail._ At the thought, the door swung open.

Wesker stood in the doorway, now wide enough for two. “Jill,” he greeted, taking his hand off of the doorknob and moving to grip the frame. “The chief and I were just talking. What brings you here?”

 _I heard,_ Jill thought, but she didn’t dare say it. “I… uh…”

She glanced over Wesker’s shoulder and met eyes with a mortified Chief Irons. He looked pale, sick as he shakily brought himself up from the chair at his desk, like he was going to fold into himself at any moment. 

Jill took in a deep breath and brought herself back to Wesker. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I talk to you in private?”

“Sure thing. Let me just grab my things _.”_

Wesker turned around and headed back toward Chief Irons’s desk. He glanced back at Jill. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen?”

Jill instinctively nodded at her captain’s advisement and headed back down the hall. What did he mean by _grab his things?_ She took a few more steps before thoughtfully looking back to the door to the chief’s office. It was closed. 

Something was off. She was beginning to feel lightheaded, so she headed to the kitchen, and tried to compartmentalize what she’d seen to analyze at a later date. 

Just a few minutes later, Wesker reappeared. He turned a corner into the kitchen and approached her. 

“Sorry about that, dear,” he said. There was a thin document in one of Wesker’s hands, which he kept at his side. Jill briefly wondered what it could be before meeting his eyes again. “You wanted to speak to me?”

Right. Jill had almost forgotten, her train of thought completely derailed by what she’d seen earlier. “Ah. Yeah, uh. Barry got a call from Kathy. Moira’s in the hospital for a fever.”

“I see.” 

Jill tugged at the hem of her sweater. “He left to be with Kathy and the girls. I just figured I should let you know.”

Wesker hummed in appreciation. “I’m sure everything will be just fine. She _is_ a Burton, after all.”

Jill’s laugh was weak and half-hearted. “Right,” she said. “I hope so.”

There was a pause between them, filled to burst with the distinct silence between two people who had nothing more to add to the conversation at hand. A second longer, and they might disperse. “Wesker,” Jill finally spoke. “Can I ask you for a favor?” 

“Of course.”

Her fingers returned to the hem of her sweater, absentmindedly plucking off the red fuzz that had somehow managed to evade her lint roller. “Can you give me a ride?”

Wesker’s face was expressionless. “ _Sure,_ ” he said, oddly pointed. “Yours or mine?”

Jill quirked an eyebrow. It hit her a second later, catching sight of the beginnings of a predatory smile on Wesker’s face. Her words were played back to her in her head: _Give me a ride._ “Oh." _  
_

She managed another deep breath. Two could play at that game. “Mine,” she said. “Then _you_ can go home to yours.”

His smile only grew more wolfish. “You wouldn’t have me stay?”

Jill was never really good at the whole _flirting_ thing - she always preferred to just _get to the point. “_ You wanna find out?” 

… And get to the point she did, apparently. 

Like a punishment for even thinking to say it, a wave of dizziness wracked Jill’s body. She wobbled on her feet, and Wesker stepped forward to catch her, should she fall. With a hand on his shoulder, she steadied herself again. “Shit,” she breathed. With every exhale, Jill could taste the ghost of alcohol and nutmeg on her tongue. “Think I’m ready to leave.”

Judging by the look on Wesker’s face, he was too. He gave a cursory glance around the room. Everyone was either chatting amongst themselves or hobnobbing with the chief — apparently, he had followed him out. Jill looked to him with the same idea, and Wesker returned it with a motion to follow him as he cleared a path to the door. 

Jill trailed close behind as Wesker weaved through clusters of people. She dug her fingers into his sweater, latching on both to keep her balance and keep up with Wesker. She couldn’t see what was in front of him — damn his tallness — relying on his eyes to lead him in the right direction, which is why she bumped right into his back when he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“Chief,” Wesker greeted. _Oh, great._ Jill could feel a headache coming on, and she couldn’t even see the man. 

“Albert, we’re off duty,” Irons said. “Call me Brian.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Jill saw tension knotting in Wesker’s jaw at the use of his first name — a name Jill rarely heard, unless it was followed by his last. “With all due respect, _Brian_ , we were just leaving.” 

“We?” Irons blinked, looking over Wesker’s shoulders to see Jill, who had never before wished she could sink into the floor more than she did in that moment. “Jill! I almost didn’t see you there.”

What luck that would have been. Jill couldn’t even bring herself to force a polite smile, inebriation pushing her closer to saying something that would result in losing her job. “Chief,” she returned coldly. 

Chief Irons looked over the both of them, spurned. He caught a glance of Jill’s fingers curled into the knit of Wesker’s sweater and looked like he was going to say something. “Say, Albert, I had no clue you and Jill were so —“

“Uh, Chief?” Jill interrupted. Once she had his attention, she pointed to her upper lip and tapped, lowering her voice to a discreet whisper. “You got a little…”

At that, Chief Irons’ eyes bulged. “Excuse me,” he said, twisting around and pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. 

While he was looking away, Jill squeezed Wesker, urging him to move. Already onto her plan, he did so, not stopping until they made it into Wesker’s car. 

“Clever girl,” Wesker said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Jill felt a twinge of pride. She snorted. “Thanks,” she said, crawling into the passenger’s seat on her hands and knees. She still felt a little dizzy, but she would make it through the night without puking.

Or, at least she hoped she would. She would never forgive herself if she puked in Wesker’s car. His expensive, leather-upholstered car. It even _smelled_ new, for God’s sake.

When she looked up, Wesker was watching her intently. Warm light from the streetlights overhead spilled in through the windows and painted his face in a soft light, strengthening his already-strong cheekbones and sharpening his angular jawline.

“And thanks again,” Jill said, ignoring how dry her mouth felt all of a sudden, punctuating her sentence with the click of her seatbelt, “for the ride home.”

“Not a problem,” Wesker replied, satisfied by the action. He drove the key into the ignition. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to leave all night. I should thank you.

That struck Jill with with an idea. “You can,” she said. Before Wesker eased off the curb, he looked her up-and-down again. Even in the low light, his gaze was hungry — filled with suggestion, just as her words had been. 

“How so?” 

Jill swallowed, willing herself not to shrink into her seat. “By telling me what you and Irons were talking about.” 

There was a pause of inescapable silence as as Wesker silently pulled off into the road. The only sound was the squeak of a leather-lined wheel under his palms. Jill felt her skin itching, seconds passing like minutes until Wesker spoke again. 

“It’s business, Jill. Nothing to worry about.”

He then reached over and clicked on the radio, effectively ending the conversation before it started. _Business_? Jill lacked the mental capacity to analyze that non-answer, but she supposed it wouldn’t do her any good to anyway. Drowsiness pushed the thought from her mind, and after giving Wesker her home address, Jill started to doze off. 

It was easy to do, slumped over in complete darkness as Wesker forced them into tense silence, save for the dulcet tones of the radio. At one point, the station they were listening to started to play a particularly soothing rendition of White Christmas, which only served to put Jill further into her eggnog-induced coma. 

When they reached her house, Jill was only conscious enough to serve Wesker her keys. Instead of urging her up, he took the keys and left. Apparently, tonight, Wesker was the _master of unlocking._ The thought almost brought a smile to her face until she thought of Barry. _Oh, Barry_. She hoped Moira was alright. 

He was gone for a few minutes, and when he came back, he scooped her up and began to carry her inside. 

“Geez,” Jill murmured, her voice deep with sleep. “Buy me dinner first.”

She felt him huff, a vibration from within Wesker’s chest. “Maybe sometime,” she thought she heard him reply. 

Jill clung onto him like a lifeline until he made it to her bedroom and stood over the bed. She felt her body hit the mattress as he dropped her unceremoniously onto the covers. “Ouch,” she said, feigning injury.

He ignored her and headed back out, flicking off the lights. “Goodnight, Jill.” 

After the soft sound of her door closing, it took nothing for Jill to find her way back into the arms of sleep. 

* * *

The next morning, Jill remembered nothing except for the feeling of Wesker’s arms enveloped around her. Her cheeks burned a bright red as she read a note conspicuously propped up by a tall glass of water on her nightstand.

_Hope you enjoyed the eggnog. - Wesker_

Then, at the bottom:

_P.S. My place next time?_

  
  



End file.
